


Ianto Jones and the Day He Broke

by kveikur (orphan_account)



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Angst, Depression, Finally Owen is not so much of a jerk, Friendship, Ginger ale cures all, Grief, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Abuse, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-17
Updated: 2014-03-17
Packaged: 2018-01-15 19:03:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1315831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/kveikur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ianto holds it together, at first.  But eventually, he breaks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ianto Jones and the Day He Broke

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Hello Knife](https://archiveofourown.org/works/481139) by [SiwgrGalon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SiwgrGalon/pseuds/SiwgrGalon). 



> So, the year that never was basically remained the same E X C E P T for some weird reason it was still a year to the Torchwood team. So Jack was gone for a year, not a few days.
> 
> edit: holy frick this is bad wowowowo why do people read this,

Jack is gone. Gone with whooshing air and fluttering papers, off to somewhere nicer than Cardiff.

Off with someone nicer than Ianto. 

He holds it together, at first. But only because he must. For Tosh, who still cries whenever someone forgets to feed Myfanwy and she has to go without eating for a day. For Gwen, who already has to deal with leading the group and making sure Rhys doesn’t get killed or worse. For Owen, who already has enough on his plate, especially after Diane.

But then, on one relatively normal day, he breaks.

Ianto is in the break room, making coffee, listening to Gwen mutter about Jack absence for the millionth time. He’s tuned her out, concentrating on the two sugars, one milk he is pouring into Tosh’s cup. One minute everything is ok, (or as ok as it can be) but then the mug is falling out of his hands and he’s sliding to the floor, arms around his head. 

Gwen is in front of him, crouched and whispering to him in Welsh but all he can hear is nothing. He curls in tighter on himself, wrapping one arm around his knees and bracing the other on the cold tile, coffee seeping into his trainers and warm ceramic cutting into his flesh. 

He shifts himself so it embeds itself deeper into his skin, the sharp blue edge slicing the tender flesh until Ianto can feel blood streaming down his arm. 

It feels good. 

Gwen pulls back, still cooing in Welsh. “ _Oh, cariad, rydych yn brifo._ ”

Ianto shakes his head and pulls his sleeve down over his arm. “It’s nothing. I’m fine just...I need the restroom.” Ianto heaves himself to his feet, Gwen following and watching his every move as he stumbles out of the kitchen and towards the bathroom. 

He runs his thumb over the now-cooled mug piece and shuddered in grim anticipation. 

Ianto hasn’t even thought about it in years. Not since Lisa, and even then they were quick and shallow cuts, nothing that didn’t heal over time. A few deeper ones had been made before then, usually on his thighs. 

Ianto pushes the door open to the restroom with a bony shoulder, closing and locking it firmly behind him. He stares at himself in the mirror hanging over the sink, taking in bruised area under his eyes, the pallid skin, the skinny frame, the altogether poor-looking creature standing in front of him. 

He doesn’t smile, he doesn’t make a snarky comment in his mind, he just grabs the mug piece and brings it to his arm. 

It does hurt, at first. Angry red marks appear before the blood-Ianto doesn’t press hard enough. He sighs and brings back the sharp edge to his wrist, closing his eyes.

_He’s lying in Jack’s bed, curled up under the covers. It’s cold without Jack, but Ianto knows he’ll probably be back tomorrow, and doesn’t let himself worry too much. He sighs, not nearly as content enough without his lover, and closes his eyes. Jack will be back tomorrow._

Blood begins to well up in the wound, threatening to spill over his soft, pale flesh. 

_It’s been six days since Jack left, and Ianto would be lying if he said he wasn’t worried. It didn’t matter if Jack came back to life or not-he knew how it felt, being ripped from death. It had happened to him, once._

 _Gwen tells him not to worry, that Jack will be fine. Gwen is usually right, but that doesn’t stop Ianto from sleeping in Jack’s bed every night._

It flows freely, trailing down his arm and staining his rolled-up sleeves. He slides down once again, holding his wrist in his hand and setting the ceramic piece down on the floor gently with the other. 

“Ianto? Are you alright?” Gwen is calling, muffled behind the thick wooden door. Ianto doesn’t bother to answer, choosing instead to bury his head in his knees. 

“Fucking coward,” he mutters, because he is. Ianto Jones is a clingy bastard that can’t deal with his boss that he happens to be shagging being gone for a few months. “Nine,” he whispers. “Nine fucking months.” And suddenly it’s anger, not self-pity, that is controlling his mind. 

“Jack fucking Harkness leaves his team, wants a change of scenery?” Ianto mutters, scrambling to his feet and grabbing his weapon. “I’ll give him something to look at.” 

Ianto jerks his fallen sleeve up and furiously slashes across his wrist, pressing so hard he hurts his fingers. He’s careful to avoid all important arteries, cutting only in places that will leave marks. 

He goes on like that until his hand gets too tired to hold the sharpened edge and his arm is in tatters. 

His face is blank as he rinses off his arm and the mug piece, throwing it into the wastebasket before taking off his dress shirt and slinging it across his arm. 

Gwen is in the Hub, leaning against the desk and throwing pieces of meat up to a hovering Myfanwy. “Ianto,” she calls, but he ignores her, increasing his pace to get to his room as fast as he can. “Are you ok?” He shakes his head before he can stop himself. 

Gwen goes quiet, and the last thing he hears before closing his door is the sound of Myfanwy chewing her dinner. 

 

*^*^*^*^*^*^

 

Ianto is in bed, lights off and trainers on, hand still wrapped around his aching wrist. He knows he should probably wrap a bandage around it so it doesn’t get infected, but he can’t find the strength to get up off the bed. 

“No wonder Jack left my sorry ass.” Ianto rolls onto his back, lying his hands on his bloodstained belly, then shakes his head. Self-pity wouldn’t bring Jack back. 

Ianto closes his eyes and tries to think of nothing. Tries not to think of Jack, Jack’s lips on his before he left, Jack’s arms around his beaten body after the cannibal incident. 

He fails. 

But it’s alright, because as soon as his mind wanders off to someplace it shouldn’t go, he grips his red wrist tighter, sending a new spark of pain through his arm. 

Sleep is out of the question, not at this hour. He supposes he could go back out into the Hub and pretend nothing ever happened. Gwen would worry, of course, but he would just say it was a moment of weakness and go back to monitoring the Rift. 

Ianto decides that this is what he’ll do, rolling off the bed and grabbing a shirt out of the closet. He dresses carefully, and when he’s done he wraps his wrist. 

He makes sure to pull his shirt jacket far over his wound before heading back out of his room and down the stairs to Gwen and Tosh, who are whispering hushedly. Myfanwy, hovering over their heads, let out a squawk of delight when she sees Ianto. The girls stop their talking and look up to the teaboy, waiting on the ledge. 

“Hello, Ianto,” Tosh says cautiously. Ianto smiled as sincerely as he could manage. 

“Hi, Tosh. Gwen,” he says, turning to his Welsh companion, “sorry for earlier. I honsetly don’t know what happened.” Gwen shakes her head furiously. 

“Of course it’s alright, _cariad._ We’ve got take-out down here, if you want some.” Ianto nods and heads down the stairs, wincing as his arm makes contact with the edge of the railing. Pain comes in waves, now, and Ianto sorely regrets his decision to slice up his arm as badly as he did. 

“Too late now,” he mutters. When he reaches the landing, the first thing he does is swipe a bottle of ginger ale and twist off the cap, hoping it will cure his roiling stomach. He isn’t hungry though, and instead watches his coworkers make conversation as they eat over the computers. 

He can hear Owen bustling in the Pit, and he sets down his ginger ale and makes his way over to the doctor, planning to ask for some painkillers. _”Headache,” he’ll say when Owen asks him what for._

The last thing he expects is him with a woman, but there they are, snogging like there’s no tomorrow and running feverish hands all over eachother. 

Ianto tries not to think of Jack. 

He fails. 

Ianto turns around and, quietly as he can, exits the Pit. He knows Owen would kill him if he ever mentioned it, but Ianto can’t fight the smirk coming on to his face. 

“Oi! Ianto!” A voice calls from behind him, and Ianto stops cold. Bracing himself against the impending verbal attack from Owen, he spins around as slowly as he can. 

He’s leaning on the railing, the brunette girl nowhere to be seen. The doctor raises an eyebrow and cocks his head. “Do you need something, or were you just being a voyeur?” Ianto rolls his eyes. 

“I’ve a bad headache,” he lies. “I just need some painkillers.” Owen shakes his head, giving Ianto a royal glare. 

“You don’t just _get_ painkillers, Ianto.” Owen stares at the Welshman for a few moments before sighing, seeing the pained expression on Ianto’s face. “Fine,” he mutters, and Ianto follows him back to the pit. 

“Where’s the girl?” He questions, curiosity getting the best of him. Owen glares at the other man, grabbing a needle off the table and shoving Ianto down onto the table. 

“Gone, obviously.” Ianto stays silent as Owen injects him with the wonderful, numbing drug. He closes his eyes and soon the pain in his wrist is just a dull throb.

“There. Next time you get a headache, though, I’m not giving this to you.” Owen grumbled. “Man up.” 

Ianto slides off the table, giving Owen a curt nod. He tries not to hold his wrist as he leaves the Pit. 

He opens the gear doors, startling Tosh and Gwen with the alarms. He assures them with a weak smile before stepping out of the Hub. 

Leaving the building, Ianto can’t help but notice the absence of Jack’s smell from the well-worn hallway.


End file.
